


Broken Trust and Broken Hearts

by TargaryenHeaven



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Not Canon Compliant, Post Season 8, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J, Sex, Warden Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 17:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22467295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TargaryenHeaven/pseuds/TargaryenHeaven
Summary: A year after she let the love of her life go, a great tragedy brought him back to her.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 51
Kudos: 135





	Broken Trust and Broken Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing with this idea for a while. It's been in my drafts since forever so I decided to finally post it. Maybe someone will be interested.
> 
> This is sort of an introductory chapter. Everything will be revealed soon, so if you come across something that doesn't make sense now, it will be explained in future chapters.

**Jon**

The first difference he could point out was the color of the great stone walls of the newly built Red Keep. It was the color of fresh blood, compared to the ugly fading red her ancestor chose, rebuilt from the ashes and rubble, but the roofs were made of solid gold. The archway above the entrance door was decorated with black, green and cream jewels, and tiny onyx stones stood in between each of them. 

It was even more magnificent on the inside. The first thing that he saw was a statue of a dragon, made from dragonglass, he concluded, as the light reflected off the spread wings. It was positioned in the center of the entrance hall, to warn people who were they bowing to and whose wrath they would face if any harm came to his mother.

On the right side stood another dragon, made from jade and emerald, with his wings folded and under his claws was water. Only then Jon realized it was a fountain. For her fallen son who was resting in the sea. And on the left, a cream quartz dragon, the only one out of the three who was lying down. In front of him was a spear.

When the Dothraki who came to greet him, or rather tell him to follow them, Jon's stomach turned. He wasn't ready to see her again. 

Next to him, Ser Davos, his loyal adviser, tried to keep up with the Dothraki who were walking as if they were still being chased by the dead. _"Surely you don't love her anymore, lad, do you?"_ Davos had asked him before they left Winterfell, but Jon could only walk away.

Jon told him the truth. He trusted him to keep it for himself, for he was more trustworthy than his cousin. Davos never said a word.  
  
"Are you ready for this, son?" Davos asked thoughtfully.  
  
He lied to himself only, "We're only here because we need her, if we want to live."  
  
"That doesn't answer my question."  
  
"Aye, I am ready. What's done is done."

* * *

He wasn't ready.  
  
When the door opened for them, his throat contracted, and his heart beat so fast he thought he would experience death once again. From the distance he could see her lean figure sitting on the throne. How small she looked, he thought, compared to that heavy thing. Her small hand was shaking.  
  
Each step he took felt like he was walking through the thick snow. Surely he was walking, but for how long he couldn't say, until he was face to face with one of the Unsullied, now a member of the Queensguard. He was so close to her, just a few quick steps and she would open her arms for him, like a queen who was waiting for her king to return to her.  
  
But Jon Snow was not her king, so why did his eyes water as if she was more than his queen?  
  
"Lord Snow, Ser Davos."  
  
"Your Grace," Jon said, bowing, sincerely hoping his voice didn't crack.  
  
Queen Daenerys wasn't his to love anymore.

_But._

She was just as beautiful as he remembered, though her hair was longer now, and her eyes were glossy and red, as if she had been crying. Maybe she had. He would not blame her.  
  
Her skin was pale, he noticed, even more so than he remembered, and there was that strange feeling again, turning his stomach upside down. Dread, or apprehension or both, he couldn't quite say. When he finally rose to his feet and looked back at her, he found her staring like he was her knight in shining armor, her king, and she weakly smiled at him, a brief lift of her upper lip, so, so small but so meaningful, as if to assure him that she was really there in front of him, after so long.  
  
He smiled back.  
  
"Your Grace," Ser Davos dared to break the daunting silence that prevailed, "thank you for seeing us. I'm sorry we had to meet again under these circumstances."  
  
"Please, Ser Davos, don't apologize. It's good to see you," she looked at Jon, "both of you. I hope, at the very least, it was a pleasant ride."  
  
"As pleasant as it can be, Your Grace," Jon said, sadly. "We need your help."

**Dany**

Saying that she expected something else than to hear those words would be a lie. It's all she's been hearing for months, now. Mothers wailed after their dead children before her, children cried for their parents, knowing deep down their fate was sealed the moment their loved ones drew their last breath. It was the same fate for all of them, more or less. Living on the streets, begging for food, boys trained to wield swords, girls locked in brothels, infants left on their own to die of hunger.  
  
She hated every minute she spent in the capital. All that power, all the glory and might she had, and yet her people were dying like flies. She could only watch, helpless. She listened and listened until she couldn't stand it anymore.  
  
"So I assumed. How can I help, my Lord? I am afraid I already know why you're here, and I must say, I am as powerless as the rest of you."  
  
"Forgive me, Da- Your Grace. It's rude to ask for your help before asking about your well-being. We're no strangers to one another."  
  
"Surely not. But it's been far too long, Lord Snow. It's a fading memory now, you needn't worry about the past. You and Ser Davos are asking for help now," she raised her eyebrow. "Am I going mad, or has this happened before?"  
  
"It has."

"Except the enemy we're fighting is more vicious than our last one. Who would've thought."  
  
She was broken, tired. The tiny, fierce woman who rode a dragon, barely had strength to respond or argue. Each word was a spiteful, cynical response, but never to Jon or Ser Davos. To herself.  
  
"The North is starving, Your Grace. It's bad. We're losing people. We tried to hunt beyond the wall even, but now that the Night King is gone... It's safe for them to go further than we can follow. We need food-"  
  
"So do the remaining six kingdoms, Lord Snow. Don't you see? Don't you _see_ the death that surrounds us?"  
  
Finally, a tear fell down her cheek.

"We mean no offense, Your Grace. The North is still covered in snow, our lands are not fertile. We cannot grow our own food. The North hasn't heard a newborn babe's cry in months, only the rustling fire from the funeral pyres."  
  
"I am so sorry," Dany got up from the throne, sucking in a sharp breath before continuing, "I am so sorry for everything. I tried, believe me, I tried to save everyone, but I have no power over this. I cannot give you food, please understand me, I would help you, everyone, but"- her voice broke- "we have just enough to survive."  
  
Jon was nodding his head. Ser Davos eyed the floor, avoiding any form of eye contact, as if ashamed for asking something he knew was now considered luxury.  
  
"We don't know what caused the sickness. We don't know how to treat it. We can only wait for it to pass," she began speaking softly as she walked down the stone steps, "they don't prepare you for these things, I'm afraid. What a funny twist of fate."  
  
Jon glanced at her, as she was now standing in front of him, and allowed himself to reach for her hand. "None of this is your fault."

Subtly retracting her hand from his, she nodded. "I know that. Yet I can't stop thinking about orphaned children, people begging for death to take them. Do you know what they call me? The Unfortunate," Dany spat out bitterly. "Daenerys the Unfortunate. Not the way I wanted to be remembered."  
  
The hand she retracted from him fell to her side, shaking. He had noticed it when he first saw her, the way she held onto the throne to hide it, and he thought it may be an impulse she tried to fight, disgust to see him, but it seemed more and more to him that it was something beyond her control. "I heard they call you the Compassionate."  
  
"Nobody calls me that," she scoffed, amused at his attempt to console her.  
  
"No," he agreed, "but that's what you are. If anything, you are the opposite of Unfortunate. Had it been anyone else on the throne, we would all be dead already. No one else would have been able to convince the traders from Essos to help us."  
  
She listened to him, then narrowed her blue eyes when a realization struck her, "Remind me, Lord Snow, was it the Northerners who spat at my feet when I came with my army to save their home?"  
  
"Yes, and I'm sorry-"

"It's not your apology I seek. Nor am I trying to be petty. As I said, it's a memory from the past life. All of it, forgotten. I care about the North and I'm thankful for your words. I am willing to talk to both of you, come up with a solution, and you are more than welcome to stay in the nearest inn and don't wander the streets, as the capital is not exactly in its glory right now. Eel Alley offers some of the best inns in the city, if I may recommend it."  
  
Ser Davos and Jon exchanged a look, there was no better way to describe their raised eyebrows and an expressionless face. Dany furrowed her own brows in response. "Did I say something wrong?"  
  
"Eel Alley?" Jon began, "I thought- We thought you'd want us here."  
  
"Here?"  
  
"In the Red Keep."  
  
"Why would I want you in the Red Keep?"

"To"- Jon bit his tongue. Whatever it was that he wanted to say, it got stuck in his throat and left a bitter taste. He'll curse himself for it later. "Isn't that where the Queen's guests stay?"  
  
"Usually, but you are not my guests. You came here as subjects, asking for help," she took a deep breath, "I can't have you around, Lord Snow. There are things far more important to me than anything we just spoke about."  
  
"What could be more important than people dying?"  
  
"People living," she nearly growled through the clenched teeth. "Do not pretend you know what it's like."  
  
"I could never," Jon responded. "I'm merely a warden of dead people."  
  
"And so are Robin Arryn, Willas Tyrell and Daven Lannister. I'm ruling over a graveyard, Jon Snow."  
  
"We'll have to talk about _it_ sooner or later, Dany." _It. Us._

**Jon**

She would've told him to never use that name again, if the door of the Great Hall hadn't been opened. Her jaw was clenched, and her eyes widened when she saw the faces of a ruthless commander of the Queensguard, and one of her new advisers. He remembered Grey Worm to be stoic but the woman he couldn not recognize, but neither looked like they came to greet him when they burst into the throne room uninvited.  
  
It was the woman who spoke first, "Khaleesi, yer zigereo tat jadat."  
  
He watched as her expression turned from anger to realization to terror, and he almost missed the way she clutched her gown and ran as fast as she could, leaving him and Ser Davos with questions he knew he would get no answers to.

Grey Worm approached cautiously, while the woman followed after her queen. "Jon Snow."  
  
"Grey Worm. Is the Queen alright?"  
  
"No."  
  
"May I ask what matter is so important that she left without a word?"  
  
"No."

Jon sighed. Not that he expected any form of interaction with Grey Worm to be fruitful. He could at least tell me where she went, he thought to himself. But as quickly as the thought came, it disappeared from his mind.  
  
He had no right to know.  
  
"You should go now, Jon Snow," Grey Worm said, "Tomorrow, the Queen will speak with you."  
  
"At least-"  
  
"Thank you, Grey Worm," Ser Davos interrupted, "We will be on our way."  
  
As Jon was leaving the throne room, he couldn't bring himself to look back.

* * *

The streets were nearly empty. Filth and dirt stuck to every wall and brick, and the only sound they could hear was that of a sick person trying to breathe until a terrible cough erupted from their lungs, murmurs from beggars, whispers from the ladies and children, innocent children, laughing, and although no one paid attention to them, it still felt like all eyes were watching him.  
  
Ser Davos had told him the capital never looked this eerie, not even in the time of war. Perhaps staying indoors would've been a smarter thing to do, but often people said that death would find its way to you, no matter where you are. He dared not to question them.  
  
"She's a good queen," Ser Davos spoke as he led the way through the alley.  
  
Behind him, Jon walked like a beaten puppy who lost its owner. The last time he walked these streets, the city was in ruins, thick smoke swallowed the clouds above them and for a moment it looked like all seven hells were dropped on them. The Lioness had outsmarted them one last time before welcoming death with open arms, and green flames erupted like a hundred raging volcanoes.  
  
"Never doubted her," he agreed, though his heart clenched at the last memory he had of them. "She deserved better than this."

Opening the door of the tavern, Davos gave him a gratifying smile, "She's still alive, lad. And so are we. If you want to know what people think of her, this is a place to go."  
  
"I doubt I want to hear what drunken fools have to say about the queen," he said, but went in anyway.  
  
To his surprise, it was nearly full of people. Not the brightest idea to have that many people in one place while the sickness was heartlessly taking lives, but who was he to be clever.  
  
"Good evening," Davos greeted the old man behind the counter. Two empty cups were placed in front of them, without a word. "Wine," he told him, and the man complied. "May I ask you a question?"  
  
"If you must," the man said.  
  
"I must, I'm afraid. My son and I, we just got here from- from the Riverlands. We heard the queen is being very generous to her people. Are the stories true? We only wish to find jobs here."  
  
The man laughed mockingly, loud enough to draw attention to himself. "The queen! Surely whoever sits on that ugly chair is generous enough to keep us fed. If it's her, we thank her. But if you ask me, I think the sickness took her. It's just the matter of time before they choose a fool to keep that chair warm."  
  
"What do you mean?" Jon asked.  
  
"Nobody's seen the queen in nearly three months, boy. Whatever it is that you lost in the Riverlands, you won't find it here. Enjoy your wine, it's from your lands, after all."

"Who's listening to her subjects?" Jon asked quickly before the man could walk away.  
  
"That commander of hers, the one in black."  
  
"She's not dead, you idiot," another voice spoke from the crowd. Jon shuddered at the sight of a large, graying old man, with his shirt unbuttoned and his belly sticking out. "Just one of many stories traveling though this ghost town. Iago over there is just another naive fool."  
  
"Whatever," Iago said, and Jon realized that the people seemingly stopped caring about who sits on the throne, but rather thanked the people who kept them fed. Or maybe they never cared.  
  
"It is true the queen is not talking to her subjects as often as before," he said, "but she's doing what she can do see that we survive whatever the gods unleashed on us. We have ships arriving from the Free Cities of Essos, grain, fish and fruit mostly. I should know, I work at the dock."  
  
"So she's a good queen, I take it?"  
  
"There are no good or bad kings and queens, my friend," another voice joined. This one seemed to belong to a younger man, though it was gruff from all the drinks he consumed. "There are the ones who feed you and the ones who want to see you gone because they're above you. How the queen is treating noble men and women is none of our concern. But to tell you the truth, friend, I have never heard of a king who rebuilt a city to make it better for those who do all the hard work."  
  
All Jon could hear before he let his thoughts consume him were silent cheers and words of agreement. The woman he once loved so deeply, was a queen loved by the people. As heartbreaking as it was to think about their moments together, he couldn't stop his mind from showing him memories from their relationship, those happy moments and the ones he wished he could forget. The smile on her face in contrast to fear in her eyes, her small hands holding onto his shoulders in contrast of her reaching helplessly for his hand, a passionate kiss in contrast of a desperate attempt to make him want her again.  
  
He was so tired.  
  
He chose his destiny, he knew. Or rather, she chose it for him. But he couldn't blame her for ordering him to go back to the North and serve as the Warden. He had pushed her away too many times, yet she couldn't hate him. The last time he saw her, she was dressed in white, and her hair was down. There was a smile on her face as she promised him she'd keep the north safe. From what, neither of them knew. He cried on his way back to Winterfell. It was selfish, but he hoped she cried too. They had lost each other forever.  
  
How naive they were.

**Author's Note:**

> I do have a plot twist coming.
> 
> I'll probably go back and fix some things, nothing major, just some changes here and there since this was the first draft. 
> 
> Dothraki: Yer zigereo tat jadat - You need to come [with us] (roughly)


End file.
